


Wolf in Hiding

by Vaznetti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaznetti/pseuds/Vaznetti
Summary: Sansa was never really without her wolf.





	Wolf in Hiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachis/gifts).



1.

Lady’s fur wasn’t really soft. No matter how often Sansa brushed it, her coat stayed coarse and thick, stiff to keep out snow and rain. But when she finished brushing Lady’s hair and her own, Lady would rest against Sansa’s knee and let Sansa run her fingers through the soft hair below the topcoat. As soft as clouds, Sansa thought, as soft as a rose, as soft as the softest thing in the world. She told herself that Lady’s fur got softer the further south they came, but that wasn’t true. After the Trident, nothing would be really soft again.

2.  
Dontos did not always find her in the Godswood; sometimes Sansa knelt alone by the oak heart-tree, resting her face and fingers against its rough bark. Even with her eyes shut she knew it was no weirwood, but when weeping turned to sleep her dreams were strange: Bran reaching out, black wings instead of arms wrapping around to shelter her; Robb on a throne, a direwolf’s head in place of his; Lady lying heavy against her legs. She woke thinking she needed to hurry before she was missed, but her legs were stiff, as if from the wolf’s weight.

3.  
Sansa sat with Myranda Royce at the window with needle and thread, Mya Stone mending bits of leather harness, piercing holes with an awl and pushing leather strips through with calloused fingers. Sansa watched her idly, letting her hands think for themselves as she embroidered. “What’s that?” Myranda asked sharply, and Sansa looked down at the fabric to see outlined the head of a wolf. Her breath caught in her throat, but “A falcon,” she said, lengthening the ears to wings, seeing how she could turn the jaw to beak and outstretched talons. “For Sweetrobin. Mayhap he will like it.”

4.  
Sansa made the banners herself, the grey wolf’s head on white ground, thinking of her brother Robb, of Grey Wind and Lady, of Bran and Rickon and Arya, of her mother and father. She worked alone, at night, hiding from Harry and Petyr both; both behind her now, one body cooling at the Gates of the Moon while the other’s knights followed her. She was the only one to bear the Stark name now, but as the banners snapped in the wind and the horses crunched through the snow all around she knew that she would not be the last.


End file.
